The Talisman

This story begins a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far… Actually, let's skip all that. ⁕ ⁕ ⁕ My name is Nathan Taylor. Up until a week ago, the biggest concern in my life used to be whether or not I was going to pass the eighth-grade science exam. Now I worry about getting eaten by monsters on a regular basis. Life used to be more simple. I would go to school, face the sociopaths the school called teachers, put up with the low-life bullies, and even manage through the daily pound of homework. It might not seem like it, but these things are nothing to what I've had to face recently. Imagine a ten-ton mammoth but with metallic skin and fiery breath. Yeah, I'd rather have a science lab due. Anyway, it wasn't the two English essays, Spanish presentation, or Math project that had me worried on the last day before Spring Break. It was Tom Phillips, my grandfather. Earlier that morning, my mom got a call from Sunshine Village—or the ‘old folks home’ as my dad puts it—that lies right outside of Malibu. Long story short, he was dying, so we better go see him. ⁕ ⁕ ⁕ When my mom picked me up from school that Friday, I should have known that something was wrong. “Wow, mom, you’re on time,” I said, tossing my backpack in the trunk. She didn’t give me a snappy comeback, so I gently shut the trunk before hesitantly opening the backdoor. “Um… do I have the right car?” My mom nodded without looking at me as my dad turned around from the passenger seat. “Hey, son.” “Wait, Dad?” I couldn’t believe it. “Wha—what are you doing here? Is everything alright?” “No.” He sighed. “It’s not.” He didn’t elaborate, so my mom explained everything to me on the drive there. And because we were going all the way from our neighborhood (which was in Sherman Oaks), she had plenty of time to tell me how Grandfather was doing. But what she told me in no way prepared me for what I was about to learn. ⁕ ⁕ ⁕ Once we walked inside, the nurse led us through the lobby and over to the hallway on the left. She showed us to the second door. “Tom Phillips is in this room.” My mom continued to the door, but before I could follow, my dad put his hand on my shoulder. “Remember, Nathan. Your grandfather’s memory is failing him. He might not know who we are or what is going on. He may be delirious for all we know. So if he says anything weird, don't try to correct him or explain what's going on.” Confused, I furrowed my brow. “I thought that mom said he was alright.” “We were called here for a reason. Just remember that, okay?” Mom was already in one of the two chairs around the bed when we entered the room. Dad took a seat, and I stood by the door. “How is he doing?” my dad asked. Grandfather said nothing, nor did he make eye contact with anyone. His mouth was shut tight as if he were in concentration, and his gruff, leathery face revealed no emotion. My mom squeezed his hand lightly. “We’re all here, Dad.” She gave a weak smile. “Go ahead and tell us what’s wrong.” Grandfather finally spoke, “I asked the nurses to call you,” his voice was rough; he swallowed and kept going, “because I am going to die soon.” My mom immediately hugged him, her tears watering the sheet; my dad, however, stood up. He gave me a look that meant we should leave my mom alone with him. I followed him out the door. ⁕ ⁕ ⁕ We waited on a small bench in the hallway so that the two of them could have some privacy. I resisted taking out my phone to pass the time; instead, I stared off into space, the same as my dad. He was sitting next to me, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, rigidly still. Every once in a while I opened my mouth to say something, hoping to start conversation, but I always changed my mind. There was nothing to say. The door opened, and we both looked up to see my mom stepping out of the room, her hand still on the doorknob. Though her face was red and her eyes were watery, she didn’t simply look sad; there was something else, like worry. She peered over her shoulder for a second before shutting the door all the way. Stepping toward us, she said in a quiet voice, “He wants to speak with you.” I looked up at her. “He does?” My mom nodded. “Why?” “He didn't say.” Okay, that was a little weird. It’s not like he had never spoken to me before, but in private? I planted my feet to stand, but my dad held my arm and whispered to me, “Remember what I told you. Don't correct him if he says anything strange. And he's dying, so don't be rude… or look sad.” He let go of my arm, and I hesitantly stood up. As I walked past my mom, she put her hand on my shoulder to get my attention. “Hey, Nathan?” I turned to face her. Her red cheeks were raised like she was hesitant; and concerned. “If you want,” she squeezed my shoulder warmly, “I can go in there with you. If, um, you need me, or you're not up to it.” Not up to it? I bit back a retort and gave her a light smile. “Mom, I’m fine. I can take care of it by myself.” She didn’t look like she was too sure, but after a deep breath she nodded and sat down next to dad. Taking a second to muster up the courage, I went to his room and opened the door…